


In the Darkness

by we_could_be_heroes



Category: The Monstrumologist Series - Rick Yancey
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-04 10:33:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1775929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_could_be_heroes/pseuds/we_could_be_heroes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pellinore's POV: Will comes to him in the night. Happens after they come home from New York in The Final Descent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Darkness

The room was already stuffy when I was falling asleep but I didn't get up to open the window. I hadn't slept in days and my head felt as if it was stuffed with metal shavings that shifted around every time I tried to focus on anything. Finally in my bed at home, lying on the stale-smelling pillow, I began drifting off to sleep, my consciousness finally falling into darkness, not instantly, but resurfacing for breaths of reality. Just before sleep swallowed me I remember thinking how leaving the window closed might give me a headache the next morning.

A touch of a hand on my face brought me back from the dreamless void, into the darkness of the room. A shape was leaning over me, very close and very familiar. I didn't startle or flinch, for even before I fully registered what was happening, my intuition knew it was not someone I should fear. I didn't think anything, I didn't say anything, just looked at him, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. His knees were on either side of me, his pale face above me, his eyes seeming glossy and his full lips slightly parted. His short hair was flattened on one side and messy on the other: I hadn't touched it in a long while, but I knew it was thick, almost bristly, the strands always refusing the bend in the desired way.

I felt a headache building up as I'd predicted and my whole body ached dully, far from fully rested. When he blinked, I noticed his eyelashes, illuminated by the moonlight, long and of light color. They softened his features and gave him an innocent, but impish look of the perfect boys in paintings. That was a false impression, however, for he was far from innocent and never impish; dutiful and serious in even the most reprehensible of actions.

Just a few seconds passed between the moment I opened my eyes to see him bending over me, and the moment he shifted his position, taking the hand away from my cheek and placing it much further down, the sheets rustling in the quietness of the night. He fumbled for the right spot and then rubbed me, through the layers. Shame and desire surged through me in equal portions, not governed by cognition, but by instinct.

He frowned in concentration as he searched for the right spot, but once he had it he looked back at me, his gaze steady and unafraid. I saw his chest heaving, his tongue darting out to lick his full cracked lips. The darkness emboldened me to react in a way I would find unacceptable in broad daylight - I reached up and drew him to me, my arm wrapping around his slender torso. He hesitated for a split second with his mouth above mine and then kissed me, both of us careful and inexpert at first, but growing more daring as the kiss deepened. He lost his grip on me and didn't bother twisting to find it again: he drew his hand back up and placed his elbows on either side of my head, bracing himself, but the rest of his body's weight quite on top of me. I felt the heat and pressure of him all over me, it was uncomfortable, but still I wanted it; his mouth tasted bitter, but still I held him close and reciprocated in full, unwilling to let him go but for a breath of air, fearing the moment when we would part. It was in the act of the kiss that I felt the most alive and unconcerned I've felt in months, so I was reluctant to think of it ever ending.

Our bodies were close, closer than we'd ever been, so close that for a blissful moment I entertained the thought our minds were one too. I felt his own arousal; he moved back and forth and I recognized his eagerness to relieve the tension for mine. I guided him off of me - he gasped at the unexpected separation of our mouths, perhaps also living then in the precarious present rather than whatever might come after - I sat up, pushing away the covers and pulling off my shirt. He understood immediately and followed my example and then got on top of me again, his expression as close to wantonness as it could ever get.

Our mouths joined again and we kissed deeply and insistently, our bodies moving in synch. His knee was digging into the inner side of my thigh, the heat of our joined efforts making us both sweat. If I paid any attention to it, I would realize my head was pounding now, but I was occupied with something else entirely. The lust I felt was raw and unabashed and trumped every rational thought. I was overwhelmed with yearning for him, for his lithe body smelling of salty sweat and musk, and regretted the moonlight did not allow me to see how flushed his cheeks were and how his soft brown gaze changed when his pupils dilated with want.

I took us both into my hand - the position wasn't ideal and my fingers kept slipping; he seemed to misunderstand my exact intentions as he would alternatively rub and thrust which was not making it any easier. I only realized all these petty complications later, though, as then, with the well-known body behaving in previously unknown ways, in the closest physical contact we've ever been, then, I did not analyze what I was doing and only did what came naturally to me, although it may not have seemed the best idea if I had my wits about me. We kissed and writhed and sighed together, eager for the climax.

I closed my mouth and swallowed, breaking the kiss and he lay his head lightly against mine, breathing onto my chin. His breath hitched and his body tensed and he made a suppressed sound. I closed my fist and gave three jerks, bringing him to completion. He arched slightly, drawing away from my face and I could see his own face in the darkness, the shimmering pools of his eyes looking back at me through the darkness, and then, with a grimace and another suppressed sound, he spilled hot on my stomach. I could feel I would soon follow suit, but needed just a quick touch more, so when he rolled on his side next to me and reached his hand to repay me the pleasure, I was already taut with anticipation and gave in almost instantly. There is no feeling in the world that comes close to that of the little death, when for the length of a sigh you forget yourself only to make the feeling of being alive all the more patent. I used the crumpled blanket to wipe some of the spent off me and threw it to the floor.

My throat was parched and my head throbbing, the sheets hiding sticky spots everywhere I shifted, but I didn't get up from the bed. He was lying next to me, watching, his breathing now even. The corner of his mouth jerked, but in a wry rather than mischievous manner. He had never been mischievous, he was always earnest, whether in his love or in his hate. He got up from the bed, moving through the semi-darkness to the window, which he opened wide, allowing fresh air to waft inside, and to the wash basin, coming back with a dripping wet cloth. He used it to clean us properly - I hissed at the coldness of it, but he would not be disturbed, and finishing the fastidious work, he dropped the cloth to the floor where it joined the soiled blanket.

"There," he spoke the first word between us and then he curled next to me, no part of our bodies touching anymore but still closer than ever, each wrapped in the darkness of his own, but not quite alone. Thus we fell asleep, waking up the next morning to a hazy recollection of the events of the night, which we would never mention during the day, but re-stage many times in many different variations from then forward until he left me for good.


End file.
